I don’t have time to ponder why I’m thinking obtrusive significant other words because Frank stumbles from his parked car and into the club. He is barely coherent enough to show his ID to the bouncer at the door. Well, that complicates things. I’d hazard a guess Rayleen will be the one hiding with her shotgun at night’s end. Gritting my teeth, I contend with the possibility that I’ll have to actually go inside. There’s a woman walking at a quick clip up the street and heads to the back entrance of Spankies. She must have parked in a different lot so her car wouldn’t be seen here. She takes down a hoodie and I recognize her as the blonde woman from the concert. Her gaze darts around to make sure no one sees her going in, and the pit in my stomach grows. The intuition I’ve honed over countless years in this thankless job, piques instantly. It’s left me with another sense. One that predicts malevolence. I have my work computer with me. It has all the files on the residents, but I don’t want to wait. Rather, the vibe I’m getting off the combination of people inside right now is such that I want to lay eyes on Presley right now, my own desires be damned. Charge Man mode activated. Forgetting everything else is imperative. I let my boss know in a quick email that tonight’s report will be late, and move the electronics out of view.
I give my truck a once-over, lock the doors, and keep my head down as I approach the bouncer. He’s sitting on a stool drinking Bud, talking on the phone. He doesn’t even look at my face when I hand over my ID. I slip it back into my wallet and slink into the low lights. The music isn’t playing at the moment, so it has to be in between dancers. It’s been years since I’ve been in a place like this and it’s hard not to feel out of place as I survey the room. First, I look for Presley, but it’s easy to tell she’s not here because there are only blondes on the floor. By floor, I mean on the small raised stages with poles littered throughout the nicotine-coated walls. There’s a hint of musk in the air, and as gross as it would be in any other circumstance, it works here. Because despite what Presley understands, this place is a fucking sex den. I eye the back rooms and concern for her pangs sharp and swift. What if she’s not strong enough to fight back if someone forces her into something? I breathe out. Protect the heartbeat. That’s all I’m responsible for—nothing else.
“Can I get you something, big daddy?” a small voice rasps at my ear. Too close. I cringe back, spinning to face a… waitress. Half her face is covered in a mask, but blue eyes flick up to meet mine. “I’m Izzy,” she says, smiling wide. “Can I get you something to drink?” Izzy bats her lashes as she bounces her saggy tits punctuated with black tassels.
“Water,” I growl, letting my gaze wander from her to the woman taking the main stage as the music starts. “No ice,” I add. Izzy runs her pointer finger down my forearm as she walks away and I can’t help but feel like she was claiming me in front of the other circling waitresses. I turn my attention back to the stripper who is wearing a neon pink top and a matching thong. Her clear shoes are so high they make her calves appear bent in an unnatural way. Blessedly, I don’t react at all, in any way. Curiosity is also a factor in a place like this. Presley sets every nerve standing on end, and I can’t control what she does to me, but other women? Flat, lifeless, caricatures. How I’m supposed to feel about Presley, I think. The woman sliding the pole between her ass cheeks doesn’t do anything for me.
The blonde woman in a hoodie is at the bar, a man sits next to her, eyes lifeless as he watches the stage closest to him. This isn’t the same man she was with at the concert, which is probably why she seems to want to hide. After a brief moment, I recognize him as one of the guys who was on stage that night watching us. Frank is in front of the main stage shoving bills into a pink G-string as the stripper claps her ass in his face. If Rayleen walks in now there might actually be a murder. Izzy returns with a water, and I slip her some bills. She tries to linger, engaging me in conversation, but I move away, searching for a seat where I can see everything including the doors. There’s a dark corner with a booth that has a view of almost everything. As I sit, pushing the plastic cup of water across the table without drinking. Presley peeks her head around the corner of a half wall that must lead to the dressing room. Even though I only see her face, my hands are shaking in my lap.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Presley
You know ideas that are only good in theory? The ones that you have and then brush off as bad news and carry on like your brain never concocted such bullshit in the first place? That’s what this bucket list item is, but now it’s too late to back down. I begged Todd not to put me on the main stage and this chick named Ginger was more than happy to take my set. He was irritated, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I’ve thought about just walking out, but after I made such a big deal about it, I have to follow through for at least one night. I’m supposed to mingle with the regulars—charm them with my tits is the exact phrasing I was issued. It took longer than should be legal to cover my face. A little because I like the idea of not looking myself, and a lot because I’m still covering the abrasion on my face. It’s faded, but it’s still dark enough that others think my boyfriend beats me. Ginger said it would work in my favor and I’m not sure how to take that.
Slowly, I stick my neck out from behind the protective wall that hides our dressing room door and let my gaze wander around the room. Frank. That’s not good. Especially when I see Rayleen is nowhere in sight. There’s a man sitting next to an empty podium who wasn’t here when I peeked out a few minutes ago, a couple at the bar, and others lazily tossing dollar bills at Ginger’s feet. She’s mean like a hungry shark so I decide to leave those men to her and head toward the most approachable people—the couple at the bar. My sparkly G-string is the only thing I’m wearing, and the air brushes my nipples into constant peaks. I remind myself to drop my arms from their folded position, trying to conceal myself. I’ve always had confidence when I’m naked in front of a man, somehow, I thought that would transfer over to this. Another thing that was solid only in theory. The woman sees me first, and her smirk is almost evil.
Her partner watches me walk over and his smile is more along the lines of what I expected. He whistles when I stop in front of them. “Do you want a dance?”
I sway on my teetering heels that I just finished scoring with a pocket knife so I wouldn’t eat shit for the second time this month. I dance, and by dance, I mean, mildly sway my hips in what I think might look like a baby giraffe trying to walk. “What’s your name?” the woman asks, and I’m struck with a flash of recognition. How do I know her? Where have I seen her?
I can feel my heartbeat in my neck. “Emerald,” I say, stuttering a little while trying to talk over the music. “What’s your name?” The pitch of my voice is higher, and I hold my mouth in a smile even though it’s uncomfortable. I’m playing a part. That’s part of the allure of this. Sure, I want people to watch me, but more than anything I want to feel like I’m in a body that doesn’t belong to me. I want to be someone else. Someone brave, rash, a woman who doesn’t live in the shadows of someone else’s felonies.
“I’m Mya and this is Tray,” the woman answers. “We will take that dance. In a back room? We think you’re beautiful.” She jerks her head to the side where an open door glows blue from the black light inside. I lock eyes with a bouncer who is on me tonight, and he nods once. He’s watching and I know there are grainy cameras in each room to protect the dancers, but my stomach is flipping because of the weird vibes the woman is giving off.
“I, uh, it’s my first night, and I’m not doing private dances quite yet.” Turning so my bare ass is facing them, I bend over and circle it in a gyrating movement that I think looks sexy. I can’t be sure because I feel like I’m about to puke from nerves at any second. Balancing upright is hard enough. I peer over my shoulder and can tell at the very least my ass has their attention.
Tray pulls out a wad of hundred-dollar bills and fans them in front of my face. “Are you saying no to this money, then? We’re in a giving
mood tonight.” I’m trembling with unease as I lose myself in the only two options I can think of. Get on the nearest empty stage or go into a back room with these people who seem perfectly nice, but are creeping me out. She keeps looking at my bouncer and somewhere over my shoulder. Fake it, Presley. Be done with this.
“Let’s go,” I say, leaning against the barstool next to them. I meet security’s eyes one more time and gesture to the back room. She moves off her stool first, then Tray, dragging his hands across my abs on his way by. They head to the back while I prepare myself for what is ahead with deep breaths. I inhale sharply and forget to exhale until I feel his presence behind me. “You’re not going in that room with them.”
Relief washes over me like a prescription sedative. “Nate,” I say, forgetting for at least one second where I am and what I’m wearing, or lack thereof because I’m so happy he’s here. I cover myself with my arms even though his gaze is studiously locked on my face. “Thank God.”
“You’re going into a room with me,” he rasps, and the look on his face could give me an orgasm on the spot.
Swallowing hard, I’m not even sure how to respond. Watching his chest rise up and down, I can tell how affected he is, and this is the high I’m chasing. This is it. I don’t want other people looking at me. I want Nate Sullivan looking at me like I’m some untouchable treasure. Yes. This is the feeling I crave. “Follow me,” I say, my voice falling into my normal octave. I don’t even meet the bouncer’s eyes this time because no one is going to keep me safer than the man staring at me like he’d raze the earth to have me right this second. I take his hand and pull him to the other side of the club, away from the room where Mya and Tray are waiting for me. Ginger is getting off the stage when we pass the middle, and I lean over and whisper into her ear that a couple with a fuck-ton of money is waiting for her. Her eyes light up, but not before giving Nate a thrice over. She’s weighing if he’s worth stealing instead, but the way that Nate is looking at me, I can see the second she waves the white flag and gets down on her knees to pick up the bills that fell off the stage.
Nate walks into the dingy room that has a flashing red bulb and a long cord that turns it on and off. He turns to face me when he’s looming large in the center of the room, his hands in his pockets. There’s a plastic couch, a small round table off to the side, and a blinking blue dot in the corner that lets customers know they’re being recorded. My voice shakes when I say, “There is a camera in here for my safety. I’m required by law to tell you.”
Nate just grins. “I think you’re safe.” He lifts and lowers one shoulder. “At least for this second.” Finally, he lets his gaze drop to my bare chest, and down to the tiny scrap of fabric barely covering my pussy. “Not sure for how much longer, though.” His voice drops several octaves and wetness floods my barely-there G-string. I’ve seen Nate in every state, but not this one. His eyes are dark, and there’s a feral hum of energy vibrating off him, calling me to a challenge.
I take a few slow steps toward him. “Take the shoes off,” he commands.
Grinning, I grind down and back up, knowing his gaze is all mine. There’s nothing else for him to look at. Nothing to be on the lookout for. Except me. “You don’t like my shoes?” I ask, lifting one to place the sole on his abs. He holds his breath, looking down at my leg. His hands are still in his pockets, but I’m about to own him. My pulse hammers in my neck, and it’s not because I’m afraid. It’s because my wildest dream is about to come true. I bend my knee, then kick him back just hard enough that he falls back, his ass hitting the plastic couch. Nate shakes his head, but he’s smiling a turned-on smirk that makes my core clench.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he finally says. “Take off the shoes.”
I obey only because they are uncomfortable. Tossing them to the side, I return to stand in front of him. His breathing is heavy, and his palms are resting on either side of him. I spin so my ass is in front of him and bend over and look at him while I’m upside down. His eyelids are heavy and his fingers are curling into fists. “How much money do you have tonight?” I ask, snapping back up, the camera catching my eye. “How much am I worth to you?” I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but money seems like a good place to start.
On my tiptoes I walk toward him, hips swaying side to side. When I’m within grabbing distance, he reaches out and pulls me closer. “How much do you want?” His hands are resting on my hips, his thumbs tucked into the strings cutting across my hip bones. His gaze is dangerous as he looks at his hands and the lace directly at his eye level. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
I swallow down the desire. “Show me the money.”
He lifts his hips, pulls his wallet from his back pocket, grabs a wad of bills and tosses it on the floor next to me. “I’m a paying customer. Now dance,” he says. His fingers are tight and hot on my skin. Desire laces with adrenaline and I move in time to the music. It’s soft and seductive. Spreading his knees by moving my legs between them, I get closer, spin and drop my ass on lap. His dick is so hard it’s straining against his jeans. It makes me giddy, but also a little guilty. He’s been trying so hard to hold me at arm’s distance and it has to be for a good reason. When he puts his huge hands on my hips and pulls me down on him, I forget all about the latter. Grinding against him, I close my eyes, and a moan slips when my clit rubs his cock through his jeans. I roll up and down against him, wanting what I can’t have, and giving what he won’t take.
“Turn around, Presley. Look at me.”
At my name passing his lips, in that commanding tone, I nearly come apart on the spot. Too much time spent trying to ignore this chemistry has created a nuclear bomb of need. Nate feels it too. Straddling him, I wrap my arms around his neck and meet his gaze. It’s a hazy red in the light of the room, but the need and desperation I see there is enough to shred my soul. He’s stripped me of all of my defenses by showing me this side of him. Working my hips again, I grind against him. Nate’s hands are everywhere. My ass, my hips, and they creep up to cup my breasts as I press down and circle my wet cunt on him. He pinches my nipples and a throaty moan escapes. I lean my forehead against his, slamming my eyes shut as I work toward my orgasm. I can taste his breath, and his thick lips brush against mine every time I lift and lower myself. Not enough to count as a kiss, but enough to drive me utterly mad with need.
“Kiss me,” I say, opening my eyes. He’s watching me intently, fascinated, petrified, full of desire. His feelings are a reflection of how I feel. “Will you?”
Nate leans his head back, tipping his chin up to the ceiling. “Fuck it,” he growls. “I’m already in trouble. Might as well enjoy the ride.” He grasps the sides of my face and stares at me for a few seconds, then he swallows hard, shakes his head twice, and kisses me violently. He doesn’t ease into the kiss, it’s an onslaught. His hands slide down my neck and land on my ass and he pulls me against him harder.
“Let’s do it,” I say, letting my tongue lash against his. “Right now. Right here. Put it in me. Please.”
The kiss wasn’t long enough for his liking. Cradling my neck with one hand and pushing me down with the other he tongues me down, his thick lips sliding against mine. I grind against him one last time, hard, before coming, in a cascade of leg tingling, pussy gripping, pleasure. My moans aren’t quiet and the walls are thin so I know whoever is in the rooms next to us heard just how wildly my world is rocking. I pull out of his kiss and rest my head on his shoulder.
“Can we get outside without being seen?” Nate whispers.
“I think so,” I say, panting.
“Let’s finish this in my truck.”
I’m still catching my breath and seeing stars, but the excitement is enough to force me to my feet. “The bouncer,” I say, choking on my words because I’m high on adrenaline and I want Nate so badly. “I have to tell him I’m leaving.” Nate takes off his T-shirt and forces it over my head. It’s the first time I’ve seen the tat
too on his upper ribcage. It’s a black sword piercing a capital C. I’d ask him what it means except time is definitely of the essence. I wonder if it’s for his cousin. Or something relating to an ex. There’s so much I don’t know about him, and yet, there’s a warm familiarity anytime I’m with him.
Nate picks up my shoes. “I’ll tell him myself.”
I widen my eyes. “Okay.”
We don’t have to go far, security, all of them, are waiting outside the room we’re in. Including Todd. He’s grinning from ear to ear. “Well done,” he says. “I’d usually fire a dancer for bringing her boyfriend in, but because he paid, we can make an exception, but I’m taking the whole amount this time.” He clears his throat, eagle eyes trying to categorize Nate. Good luck, buddy, I think. “He used your real name,” Todd says. “Boyfriend on your first night? Bad form. I should have expected as much.”
“Last night,” Nate growls, holding me protectively around my shoulders. “Do you need to get your stuff?” he asks. I nod and as quickly as humanly possible round to the back to the dressing room and the lockers. Mya is waiting there, directly in front of my locker.
“Emerald.” Her eyes glitter with fury. “You left us hanging there. Poor Tray. He got his hopes up for nothing. He came here tonight especially for you.”
Danger washes over me. This isn’t Rayleen with a shotgun, but it’s premeditated. “What do you mean? How did you know I was going to work here? I didn’t tell anyone.”
The Love You Hate: A Charge Man Novel (The Charge Men Series Book 1) Page 16